Supermassive Black Hole
by Unauthorizedx
Summary: A certain Gilbert Beilschmidt tries to escape a certain disorder that leaves him a little hotter under the collar certain times of the year than most, and in doing so, he meets up with an old...'friend'. Human AU, warnings within.


**Title: **Supermassive Black Hole

**Author: **Myself.

**Length:** 5,829

**Warnings: **Human AU; Knotting, swearing, mentions of alcohol, and sex.

**Rating: **R

**Characters: **Prussia, Russia, brief mention of Germany

**Pairings: **Russia/Prussia

**Summary: **A certain Gilbert Beilschmidt tries to escape a certain disorder that leaves him a little hotter under the collar certain times of the year than most. Human AU, warnings within.

**Author's Note: **This piece was written for a couple friends of mine over on Tumblr, and was inspired by a certain Rus/Ame Alpha/Omega fic on the kinkmeme.

It's important to note that, in this particular 'verse, human beings go through heat and have fertility cycles a few times a year, rather than have normal one-month cycles known to our species.

It's also very important to not that while there is knotting in this fic, there is absolutely no bestiality of any kind!

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia and the characters are not mine and I hold no rights to anything other than the writing.

xxxxx

It was a really stupid idea to go to the bar tonight.

It is like Gilbert's own personal hell, bodies packed too close, too much noise – the music throbbing in his chest like a caged beast, while another one in his gut tried to claw its way out in-time to the beat – and too many scents. He came to escape himself in the beer, lose his sense of self in the throngs of people, hide away from his desires, but everything only seemed to aggravate them. He'd hoped that the scent of others would hide his own, but he's had so many turn their heads, stare at him, and it had been too much.

It wasn't even partway into the night, and he was holed up in the bathroom.

He has no idea why he ever thought it would be a good idea to go to a club when he was in heat – no matter how bored or lonely he was, it was too dangerous to go out, especially alone, especially for someone like him. Most males – hell, even a good portion of the females – can go out virtually uninhibited when in heat, because while it increases their libido and changes their pheromones and their bodies essentially scream 'fuck me', they aren't nearly crippled from arousal from certain scents. Some are, of course, and while vast majority are female, there are a small number of males who suffer from it; in males, it's considered a disorder. It makes the most sense in females and provided a bit of an evolutionary foothold, as they seem to be attracted to those of better health and standing and would therefore, theoretically, have better babies, but in males it is pointless, especially considering almost all of them are gay and don't offer anything to the gene-pool. A side effect, of course, is that they happen to give off far more pheromones – the higher the level, the more delicious they smell, and the more attractive they are to a potential mate.

Gilbert happens to suffer from it, and he has it particularly bad. He has to take time off of school and work to go hide away in his house for several weeks twice a year, guarded by his rather irritable and militaristic little brother. It's usually not so bad, since it's time for him to sleep in and blog all day (and totally neglect his schoolwork, much to Ludwig's disdain) when he manages to calm down enough, but as of late, it's gotten worse. He figures it's because he hasn't gotten laid in a while, and his body is practically screaming for cock on a good day. Staying in the house while he's in heat now is horrible, stifling – how can he hope to function properly when the only person he sees is related to him and he absolutely _**needs**_ to be fucked, to be filled to the brim, to be stuffed with a knot to keep him from overflowing.

He supposes going to the bar made sense. Initially. Now, however, it has him hiding in a bathroom stall with one hand pressed to the crotch of his jeans and the other to his mouth to smother his ragged panting. He knows that, should someone open the door, they'll be pelted with his horribly aroused scent, and he'll probably be screwed – both figuratively and literally.

He wonders if there will be enough room to fight back, or if he'll even have the willpower to scream for help.

He manages to calm himself down a bit; the bathroom is quieter, cleaner smelling, and blissfully empty. He wonders vaguely if the bartender had noticed what he was and was slowing down the traffic to the bathrooms for a while, and he was thankful. He decides he'll make a break for it, hopefully manage to get to his car and get back home in one piece, hopes that he won't get pulled over for speeding.

He slips the bolt lock open and steps out of the stall, fixes himself up a bit once he catches sight of himself in the mirror – as sexy as dishevelled looked on him, he really didn't need to look crazed. His hand is almost to the door handle when it's flung open, nearly smacking him square in the nose. The sharp squeal of the hinges and sudden onslaught of sound and smell blind him for a short moment, and he blinks when he sees the intruder.

The man is tall, and Gilbert happens to see his chest and wonderful shoulders first before he thinks to look up. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he realizes who it is before him – it was hard to forget those eyes when you've seen them above you, clouded with lust. "Ivan," he chokes out, and his heart lodges itself firmly in his throat, hammering almost painfully, when he catches Ivan's scent and oh god, he is in _**heat**__,_ isn't he? and he nearly has to brace himself against the door frame to support himself when his legs turn to jelly from the sudden wave of arousal. He wanted nothing more but to take Ivan's cock in his mouth again, and take it in other places, too, and he knew just how good it felt when he was just horny, and he can barely imagine how _**amazing**_it would feel now.

Ivan and him had met in Gilbert's freshman year (they shared a couple classes together, though they didn't sit anywhere near one-another) and had done their very best to ignore each other. Ivan essentially fit into everything Gilbert had ever wanted, but his personality always pissed him off to no end – childish to a fault, and a bit of a dick, to boot. He hated him because his personality absolutely ruined any attraction he had to him, and Ivan would have made an otherwise perfect mate. That year, though, his cycle had gotten worse, and it took so much energy just to sit and beg for someone to fuck him, and having Ivan around had just exacerbated the problem. He was goddamn gorgeous and always came to the forefront of his mind when he touched himself, and when he finally could go back to school, he'd couldn't decide whether he wanted to put up with the Russian and just have him fuck him for the rest of his life, or if he wanted to beat the everliving shit out of him.

The next year had brought some interesting things up. Apparently, because of just how many good males there were in his classes – Gilbert was going through engineering, and many of the men there were well off and smart, and apparently intellect smelled good or something; his body confused him at times – his cycles were going to be worse than normal while he attended because his body saw lots of opportunities and it wanted all of them.

He'd also discovered that Ivan was a wonderful fuck.

They had sex quite a few times, and Gilbert ended up agreeing to being in a relationship with him, but his fear of discovery (what would Ivan say to that? He couldn't handle being harassed for it, especially when he tried so hard to prove he wasn't a needy little bitch. His ego wouldn't handle it) and his approaching cycle – as it always managed to land in the same time-frame, fortunately – made him drop Ivan far sooner than he would have liked. That cycle had been absolutely awful, more because it almost physically _**hurt**_**,** because he'd just had a mate, and it landed him into a minor depression. Going back had been worse, though, because he couldn't bring himself to speak to Ivan.

He hasn't, in fact, spoken to him ever since. He's done his best to avoid contact with the Russian, and he's done so swimmingly until now. And seeing him now, when his cock is proverbially drooling for him, is the worst thing imaginable.

Ivan blinks almost owlishly in surprise, opens his mouth to respond with "Gilbert?" and he can fucking _see_ when the other takes a breath and his scent hits him: a genetic cocktail that acts as a sort of natural, airborne aphrodisiac, and he can see how Ivan's eyes change and his posture shifts, slightly more inclined towards Gilbert, and he's caught, hook, line, and sinker. His scent changes, too, and Gilbert is practically drowning in it, can practically taste it, heady and intoxicating and somehow sharp, almost like standing in an old forest with the scent of old rot and nature and the underlying hint of pine on the breeze, only so wildly different at the same time – forests don't turn him on, for one thing.

Ivan's eyes are so intent on him, and he does his best to make himself look inviting, look like he wants it because he does, he fucking needs it, and it doesn't matter if Ivan fucks him in the bathroom of a bar where everyone can hear his screams for more. By the subtle shift in the other's expression, he can tell it works, and he's just about to step back and allow him to pin him to the wall when Ivan visibly reigns himself back, shaking his head.

"What are you doing here like this?" The Russian says, voice thick, and he swallows audibly and _**Gilbert can see those lips wrapped around his cock, sucking him dry,**_and it takes all of his willpower to keep himself from whimpering. It takes a moment for his arousal-fogged mind to register his question and actually come up with something other than 'please, _please_ fuck me', which isn't an answer to his question but still seems completely viable for him to say. He opens his mouth and pauses, unsure exactly why he was there anymore, and Ivan sighs. "Come on, let's get you home." There's a sort of possessiveness in his voice that really does make Gilbert whimper, and the Russian actually has to press a hand to his mouth to presumably ground himself. Gilbert really wishes he didn't have such good self-control.

The other's large hand wraps around his pale wrist, and he notes how frail he looks in comparison, and having those hands wrapped around something else sounds so nice, but even the skin-to-skin contact feels good, sends little jolts of need down his spine. He needs those hands elsewhere, needs the Russian to cover him with hands and lips and teeth and fuck, if he doesn't get relief somehow, he's afraid he might actually explode. Or, at the very least, start humping Ivan's leg. Even that sounded excellent at this point.

It isn't until someone steps on his foot that he realizes he's no longer in the mens' room and is being led through the bar-come-club. It's a little scary how he can get lost in his desire, but at least with Ivan around, he's fine; even if they haven't spoken in over a year, Gilbert knows that he wouldn't just abandon him, not while he was likely to collapse on the ground and possibly go insane from the sheer amount of male scents in the vicinity. He manages to catch sight of some heads turning towards them, curious; two males who reek of arousal rushing for the door was common enough, though, and no one looks twice, much to Gilbert's relief.

The cool night air does nothing to clear his head, not when there's still a hand on his almost fever-hot skin and his cock is pressing against the seam of his pants and almost painfully hard at this point. Ivan fumbles with his keys when they reach his car, swears softly in his native tongue as they nearly slip from his shaking hand, and the fact that he's barely in control has the German's toes curling in pleasure. "You're in no fit state to drive, little one." Ivan says when he finally manages to get the door to open, and it hadn't even occurred to Gilbert that he might have had to drive if Ivan hadn't run into him.

His mind seems to focus in on the other's words, though, and he takes a step closer, pressing him to the car. "You aren't, either," he says slowly, and now he's almost flush against the other, hands clutching the low roof of the car. Ivan looks unsure, but his lust is clear as day in his eyes and his scent, and they both lean in just fractions of an inch, their breath mingling from their closeness. "I could always help with your little problem, you know."

He has him, he can fucking see it, practically taste it, and his whole body screams in response to the promise of sex. His heart-rate picks up, his breath comes in short, quick pants, his eyes slide half-closed, and he knows – if not by experience, but rather from what they were taught in high school health class – that his own scent has changed subtly to coax his potential mate to follow through.

He nearly howls in disappointment when Ivan pushes him away. His knees almost buckle, too, and it's hard not to just collapse to the floor and beg.

The blonde shakes his head, motions for him to get in the car and does so himself. His jaw is set, Gilbert notes, and it must have been so hard to push him away, considering he can practically taste the erection that lies behind entirely too many layers of clothing. Gilbert's body is too hot, and the lack of relief is starting to hurt and if Ivan won't touch him, then fuck it all, he was going to touch himself.

"Fine," he says, dropping into the seat of the car and closing the door with trembling hands, fumbles with the seat belt and very nearly gives up on it when Ivan reaches over and snaps it shut for him. The car audibly shifts into gear and they pull away from the parking lot adjacent to the bar, and Gilbert realizes just how tight their quarters are. The air is unmoving in the tiny car, and it seems filled to the brim with Ivan's pheromones, clogging the albino's senses and making him whimper. He debates giving Ivan head while he drives, would fucking love to, but he isn't sure how sober the other is, and the pheromones combined with roadhead and dark driving conditions was honestly the worst combination he could possibly think of. Instead, his hands struggle with his belt and the zip to his pants, and he can finally touch himself, pull his erection from his boxers and spread his legs so he can start stroking himself more comfortably. It's not what he wants, really – wants to be spread apart and filled with Ivan in more ways than one – but it does well enough, and he closes his eyes and leans his head back, toes curling in his sneakers and not caring a whit that Ivan is sitting not a foot away from him. He can't hear anything over his heartbeat pounding in his ears, but he's sure he's making obscene noises; he hopes Ivan regrets saying no earlier.

Ivan speaks up, his voice cutting through the din, "Gilbert, _**stop**_," His voice sounds strangled, and when the German looks over to him, he sees that his knuckles are white on the steering wheel and there's an almost pained expression on his face, but his eyes remain trained to the road, almost like he's scared to look over at him. "If you keep this up, I'm going to crash the car."

Gilbert opens his mouth to protest, because how can anyone expect him to stop _**now**_? But he obeys with a whine, somehow managing to stuff himself back in his pants and not catch himself with the zipper; better safe than sorry, after all, and he really, really didn't want to be hospitalized while in heat. It's so, _so _hard not to palm himself through his pants, though, and he shifts restlessly in his seat.

The rest of the drive is short, but agonizing. Gilbert ends up resting on the dashboard, fingernails digging into the carpeted top, and groaning and whining at every bump in the road. Ivan pulls up to the curb in front of Gilbert's house, and by the time the car has come to a stop, the albino has his seat belt off and he's leaning over the centre console, pressing a sloppy, poorly-aimed kiss to the corner of the other's mouth. A hand ends up on his shoulder, and he's happy for the contact – until a hand is clapped over his mouth. "_**Gilbert,**_" The Russian hisses, keeping himself composed as Gilbert licks his palm, eyes sliding shut at he does so. "Stop. Gil—Zaichik, stop, stop, enough. I refuse to be used by you again." And Gilbert does stop, because Ivan's tone is serious and his eyes are pained.

He shakes his head, pulls the hand away from his mouth. "No! No, never meant to hurt you. Fuck, I'm so sorry, Ivan." He tries to calm himself down, clear his head enough to think beyond sex. It's hard, though, because when he tries to take a breath to steady himself, all he can smell is Ivan, and his body absolutely needs him at this point, and it hurts. He sits back in his seat and kicks the door open – not to escape, but to breathe. He fucked up his relationship with Ivan last year, and in the short flings he'd had since then, he's come to realize that Ivan is what he wanted in a mate, and no one could compare. Who cared if he was childish and a tease? The pros outweigh the cons when it comes to Ivan, and he wants him to know that. "I'm...I was scared," he admits, staring out at the recently-mowed lawn, "Didn't know what you'd think when you found out that I was this." He gestures to himself, not needing to specify what this was for Ivan to understand. It was rather obvious at this point.

"It's no excuse." Ivan grumps, and while he sounds angry, Gilbert can hear the childish sulk in his voice, and he knows that Ivan at least understands his point. It will take a lot more to earn his forgiveness, but already – thank god – it's a start.

"Is too! I valued – and still do – your opinion of me too much. If you laughed, if you used me for it..." He trails off, biting his lip. His head is starting to swim, and that can't be a good sign; he's dehydrated, the heat making him too hot and forcing him to sweat, losing precious water.

The other is quiet for a moment, and when he speaks, his voice is quiet. "So you didn't trust me enough to tell me about it? How could I laugh when you're absolutely gorgeous like this?" Gilbert snorts, knowing that he looks a little crazed and very rumpled and grossly sweaty at this point, and he nearly squeaks when Ivan grabs his shoulder, turns him to face him. "Do not laugh, it is true! I don't—I don't want anyone else to have you, Gilbert. I want you to be mine, want to make you mine and own you, have since the day we met."

Gilbert would have been amused at how the tables had turned, Ivan apologizing to him when he had been angry in the first place, but his admission and the possessiveness in his voice sends a shiver down his spine – and straight to his cock. "So make me yours, then, Ivan," he whispers, voice low and rough and need plain as day even to his own ears, "take me and claim me and own me."

Their mouths crash together rather unpoetically – they are both too desperate for softer kisses, can only handle short hard ones that have their teeth clicking painfully, but they're still kissing and it's absolutely amazing. Gilbert's hands tangle themselves in Ivan's hair, pull him closer, while the other's large hands grab his hips and oh, _**oh**_, how Gilbert wants those hands to tighten and leave bruises for him to count in the morning, wants him to mark him and utterly unmake him – only to go again and again, until he can't even walk anymore.

They barely manage to make it out of the car, and if the street didn't have so many families with young children living on it, Gilbert is sure Ivan would have taken him on the front lawn. They make it to the front porch, though, and throw the door open – it is slammed shut soon after, the smaller of the two pressed against the cool wood while the other kisses him, ravishes his neck with bites and lingering kisses that are sure to leave marks in the morning, and Gilbert sings him praise, moaning words of encouragement and begging for more.

His shirt is torn off and cast aside, instantaneously forgotten, and Ivan's hands are on his chest, caressing as much of him as possible, and the contact has his back arching, his skin so sensitive and hot and each touch feels like a trail of fire across his flesh. Ivan kisses down his neck and over his chest, and he buries his hands in that blonde hair and throws his head back in pleasure when he catches his nipple in his mouth. He continues teasing him there, flush against the door, and Gilbert all too happily melts into his hands. It's probably not the best place for this, though, especially since Ludwig is standing in the doorway leading to the living room when he opens his eyes, and his brother looks both horrified and angry - he manages a to grin at him, though a particularly sharp bite has him crying out; his brother has disappeared by the time he regains his senses.

He tugs at Ivan's hair, whispers hoarsely, "Bedroom" and they're hurrying through the house, stumbling over their own feet in their haste, and for once in his life, Gilbert is happy he lives in nothing more than a raised bungalow. They only have four stairs to trip up, and trip up they do – Gilbert lands on his side at the landing, and Ivan is over him, hands braced on either side of his head, and they kiss for a long moment. Gilbert pushes the other's shirt up and over his head, their mouths meeting again like a well-coordinated dance, and he relishes in the feeling of their bare chests pressed together – Ivan's is so much broader, pins him down deliciously and holds him there, and it's hot as fuck.

Somehow, they make it to Gilbert's bed. Ivan is thankfully too far gone to comment on the toys scattered about, both the stuffed ones and the sex toys ignored completely in favour of the pair falling to the bed. The Russian yanks Gilbert's pants off, boxers following soon after, and he could have sobbed from how good it felt to be out of those pants and underneath someone – especially when that someone was Ivan. The other spreads his legs, lifting one up and mouthing alone his inner thigh and he shakes his head, nearly sobs from need so great it had him visibly shaking. "No, no more teasing. Fuck me, please! Need you, need you _**so fucking much.**_" Ivan cuts him off with a kiss, and he can see the need and desire in those gorgeous violet eyes, dark and almost smouldering with lust, and those eyes pin him down and hold him there, spread him out in ways no one else had before or even hoped to.

It doesn't take him very long to find the lube – there's lots just lying around, quite the supply stocked up for the length of time Gilbert would be holed up in his house and with no one to play with besides himself – and the albino watches, panting, as Ivan squirts the liquid onto his fingers, and spreads his legs open more, invitingly, allowing him to easily slip his fingers inside. Gilbert isn't exactly the tightest, not when he's spent the past week fucking himself with toys, and Ivan's fingers slide inside him fairly easily, meeting little resistance. Gilbert slaps a hand over his mouth, swallows the scream that nearly tears its way out of his throat just from that simple motion, and when those fingers begin to spread him wider it takes every ounce of his willpower not to cry and howl his name; even his fingers were so much better than anything else he'd done in his entire life, and why, oh _**why**_ hadn't he let Ivan fuck him in one of his heats before?

Ivan has half his hand inside him when Gilbert comes, shuddering and arching and crying his name, fingers clutching the sheets for dear life. He collapses on the bed, panting and his head spinning and he's somehow not satisfied, and when he glaces down at Ivan, he's thankful he's not. The Russian looks completely enraptured by him, and he can see his cock straining at his pants and it all makes him feel so very wanted and hot, makes him want more.

He pushes himself up with some effort, bracing himself with one hand, and he grins up at the other while his other hand worked on freeing Ivan's cock from it's cotton confines. He's just as big as he remembers, and he leans closer, gingerly pulling the foreskin back and revealing the rest of the cockhead. This close to him has his scent rolling over him like waves, and it's enough to make Gilbert hard again. He licks the head, catches some of the precum on his tongue, and moans softly against his hard flesh when one of those big hands buries itself in his hair; Gilbert distantly hopes that it's not the one that was just inside of him.

"No," Ivan says, pulling on his hair, and Gilbert would have wailed in disappointment if Ivan's voice didn't sound so low and rough and needy. "Let me...ah, need to be inside you, little one. Turn around and spread your legs." The last words are growled, and Gilbert moans from how hot it is, eagerly flipping over and spreading his legs again for him, and he barely manages to think of piling his pillows beneath himself. When the other groans, he can feel it reverberating through his chest, and he bites his lip and very nearly whimpers.

Ivan's hands are on his hips, and it seems like the albino is going to get his wish for bruises, because his fingers are already so blissfully tight against his bones, and they only tighten more when he pulls him back. Gilbert moans wantonly Ivan pushes into him, slick and big and perfect and leaving him breathless, because fuck, nothing was more perfect than this, than Ivan inside of him and sating the beast in his belly.

The Russian starts off slowly, and he's so thankful: everything felt almost oversensitive, each slow thrust dragging on every nerve in his body in the very best of ways and leaving him gasping and moaning. Anything faster would have been too much for him, but this was perfect. Ivan is straining, though, he can feel how he wants to let loose and just pound him into the mattress, but he's holding back, holding back for _him, _and Gilbert loves it. He whispers words of encouragement between his desperate little moans, a low uttering of _**yes, yes, good, so good **_and then soon his voice rises, begging for more instead, for _**harder, harder, Ivan, **_**please, **_**need more,**_ and Ivan complies.

Gilbert screams.

He screams and howls and wails, because this, _**this**_ is what he's needed his entire life, this feeling of all-consuming pleasure that seems to build endlessly, leaving him unable to say anything more than Ivan's name, and he does – says it like a goddamn prayer, like he's counting rosaries and Ivan is his god.

One of the other man's hands slides up onto his stomach, his fingernails digging into the soft, trembling skin,and Gilbert can feel him shift over him, catches his arm braced against the headboard and feels his chest press against his back in a way that makes him feel wanted and protected, and he loves it. Above his heartbeat pounding in his ears and his own cries, he can hear the squeal of old bed-springs and the solid _**thunk**_ of he headboard hitting the wall, and "You're amazing," Ivan pants, voice low and hoarse, his nose nuzzling against the shell of the smaller's ear, "Don't know why you didn't want me to know about this."

Gilbert shakes his head; he can't muster the breath to reply, can only moan now. The pleasure is still growing, almost bordering on too much but still at the point where it's absolutely perfect, but it isn't long until the beast in his belly tightens and explodes, and Gilbert's back snaps into a sharp arch and his fingers claw at the linens as he comes, cock completely untouched, and his mouth open in a soundless howl. The sheets are ruined, but it doesn't matter – he plans on ruining them more before the night is through.

He sags, and he feels Ivan shudder to a stop, though his need is still so apparent and Gilbert can feel it twitch inside of him. He needs more, though, needs Ivan to continue – needs him buried deep and filling him completely and _**breeding**_ him, and oh god, it won't result in anything, but being bred sounded so good. Gilbert twists his torso and reaches a shaking arm around Ivan's neck, drags him down for a hungry kiss. "_**Move**__._" He tells him, still so close that their lips brush, and Ivan doesn't need to be told twice.

He starts again almost instantly, pounding into him relentlessly, and Gilbert is so oversensitive and it _**hurts**__,_ but the heat has it feeling so, so good that he doesn't care, and with Ivan moaning and whispering soft praises into his ear and dragging his nails down his sides, surely leaving little red lines from the pressure, it doesn't take long for him to be hard again; he almost wishes his body could recover this fast all the time.

His throat hurts by now, his voice raspy from his screaming before, but he still sings for his mate, still moans and whimpers for him, and Ivan responds with low groans and a bite to his shoulder. His pace slows, stutters, and Gilbert begs and pleads for him to continue, to fill him so much that he needs to knot him, needs him to stay and breed him. Ivan's keen in response is leg-crossingly sexy, and he tangles his hand in platinum blonde hair and pulls the albino's head back, exposing his neck, and lavishes kisses and hard sucks and Gilbert just about comes again, especially when the pace is picked up and the force of his trusts probably would have sent him sprawling onto his face if he hadn't been held up by his hair.

Ivan tenses suddenly, taut and hard over Gilbert, and he snarls, growls in his ear, his teeth and lips and tongue grazing his skin. Faster, faster, and Gilbert shudders as he realizes that fuck, _**fuck,**_ he's gotten even bigger, and Ivan's hips snap and grind helplessly against him. There's a small yowl, and Gilbert can _**feel **_it, can feel Ivan tipping over the edge, hand wrapped around his cock, and the Russian is whimpering, kissing him anywhere he can reach. Even Ivan is far too gone at this point, and all he can do is stutter and murmur broken apologies and try to kiss him blindly; Gilbert groans and whines, catches his lips with his own.

"Good," he whispers against his mouth, "so good." And it is, it's everything his body has ever craved and absolutely _**needed **_and it is so, so much better than he'd imagined, than what porn has told him. Ivan gives him a small, strained smile, and he melts as the other's hands stroke his cock until he comes again with a sharp cry, his eyes rolling back and come painting ribbons on Ivan's hand and the sheets below. Those same hands (Gilbert's starting to love them, big and warm and comforting) catch him when he sags again, limp and so blissfully sated, and rearranges them so they're curled up on their sizes, Ivan still buried inside him – and will be for quite some time, Gilbert knows, slowly filling him with even more come – but that's alright, because it's oddly comfortable, even if his skin is still burning and sensitive, and Ivan is wrapped around his middle so nicely.

Gilbert closes his eyes and sighs happily, placing a hand over Ivan's, and they lie in comfortable silence for a short moment, only broken by a soft grunt as he feels the small spurts of come.

"You know," Gilbert says after a moment, pausing to lick dry lips, "I'm not going to let you leave."

Ivan hums softly in agreement and buries his nose in the smaller man's hair. "I'm going to stay with you your whole cycle, little one. And inside you for most of it."

The albino laughs softly, but turns to look over his shoulder at Ivan, hand tightening around one of his and placing a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I don't just mean for this cycle. I want you around forever, you know. Made a damn stupid mistake, running away from you. Want to be yours, want to be-" he pauses again, though this time to yawn; he's so worn out, and it's wonderful. He might actually get some sleep tonight. "Wanna be your mate."

He doesn't get a response for several moments, and he's afraid Ivan will turn him down – he doesn't blame him, honestly, since he deserves it, but it leaves his heart aching and empty-feeling. There's a soft sigh behind him, and a kiss is pressed to the top of his head, "I think I can handle that." Ivan murmurs, and there's a happy bubbling feeling in Gilbert's stomach, and despite his exhaustion, his grin is wide and he laughs, laughs and nearly cries, because he thinks he's absolutely in love and it's even better than being fucked in heat.

Perhaps going to the bar tonight wasn't such a bad idea.


End file.
